


Love Assumes Its Mad Empire

by AniseNalci



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 11:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AniseNalci/pseuds/AniseNalci
Summary: A court lady from Corval is set to shake things up, and steal hearts away.





	Love Assumes Its Mad Empire

**Author's Note:**

> Lady Layla of Corval is one of the MCs I made for this game, and because I'm obsessed (again) with 7KPP, here you go. (Basically, the MC through the eyes of others.)
> 
> Title is from Song, by John Rollin Ridge

Lady Layla of Corval was not especially beautiful. It was an established fact. Oh, she was fair looking enough, but not arresting in her features. Not like the Lady Avalie, who was one of the other Jiyel delegates. Or the Princess Gisette.

And yet, Duke Lyon thought to himself, there was something about her that was mesmerising.

Her features, he had discounted early on. Hazel eyes and dark brown hair were not unusual features for delegates from Corval. Her sunkissed skin, though smooth, would be unfashionable in most other countries, including Revaire and Jiyel. Though she was possessed of a lithe figure (the Corval dresses were all gauzy, flimsy materials which revealed as much as they hid), she was unfashionably short, even moreso than the Princess Anaele. She lacked the poise and stature of most of the other lady delegates.

Her mind was a different matter altogether, though. She was an excellent conversationalist, even by Jiyel’s standards. He noticed her that first night, chatting away with General Falon. More surprising for him was that the General tolerated her presence. The General! He did not suffer fools lightly.

Perhaps it was then that the seed of interest had been planted. Like a tiny butterfly (it was an apt analogy, given her small stature and her colourful silks), she flitted from person to person, making conversation. Even Grand Duke Woodly was not immune to her fresh-faced prettiness. That definitely deserved notice. He saw her, as she greeted most of the chaperones, and then most of the other delegates.

And then, hazel eyes sparkling, wide smile lifting her lips, she turned and made her way towards him.

Oh, he could not quite recollect what he said to her. Surely he made a fool of himself? He remembered something along the lines of telling her point-blank that he was a poor conversationalist.

He wondered why he even mentioned that. As taciturn as he was, even he could hold a conversation when the conversation came to it; how else could he have been chosen as a delegate? Yet, next to her ebullience, he found himself tongue-tied and confused. Self-deprecation was an unattractive means of conversation, so how could he even think that it would be an appropriate?

She was of excessively good breeding, for she managed to sustain what must have been a very stilted conversation, and even smilingly thanked him for his time. Which, to tell the truth, confused him all the more. Especially as there was no guile involved in her behaviour.

He would have fled soon after, but dinner was then served. And so, he did the next best thing; he fled immediately after dinner, resolving not to think of perfumed ladies from Corval who were more intelligent than they were beautiful, and who – despite all reputation to the contrary – was refreshingly honest and sweet, rather than the frivolous dilletantes he’d thought he’d encounter.

He shook his head and wondered aloud what had possessed him. He felt out of control of his faculties. Summoning his composure, he resolved to continue on as he had planned during the summit; that is, by studying in the library in Vail Island. Why, there were treatises, books of knowledge, scrolls on ancient histories to learn from!

He retreated to the libraries, ostensibly to study. It would not, after all, be out of keeping with his character to do so. And it was so easy to fall into the spell of learning, too.

(And she was unlikely to harass him there… or so he thought.)

His butler mentioned off-handedly that he saw he could not take his eyes off one of the delegates. Lyon was well-bred enough to not respond to that with a childish roll of his eyes. However, he struggled to keep his composure when his butler then mentioned that he had told Lady Layla’s butler that she ought to visit him in the library.

 _But why?_ He wanted to ask. It hardly seemed appropriate.

His butler continued speaking, propriety be damned, it seemed. She was a kind lady, and the servants had far too much to do than to make sure he was alive and not studying to death.

It would have been a plausible conclusion, for those who did not know him, but the twinkle in his butler’s eye was very suspicious.

He took a pastry and skulked out of his room. He doubted he would see a flighty lady of Corval around books.

 

* * *

 

He was proven wrong.

His concentration was broken by her presence. She looked exceedingly lovely in his eyes, flaws in appearance notwithstanding, with her kind smile and intelligent eyes. She was smarter than he gave her credit for, as she countered his arguments with salient points. He remembered enough of propriety to prevent himself from embarrassment when he more or less questioned her as to why she was present, but she humoured him, by saying all she wished for was to talk to him yet again.

Then, when she learnt he had eaten nothing, she waltzed away. He was convinced she had finally decided to leave him in peace, but again, he was proven wrong, when she returned with a glorious spread of food for him.

More surprisingly, she entreated him to take better care of himself, or she would worry.

Why she would worry, he did not dare speculate. He was far more concerned with the warm feeling engulfing him as she bestowed a smile and adieu, before departing from the library, and then tried not to feel too despondent when she left.

He sighed, as he tried to regain his concentration. It would prove to be vastly difficult, and he refused to dwell on the cause further.

 

* * *

 

As one of the highest ranking and most eligible noblemen from Jiyel, he was unsurprised to find a flurry of invitations. His butler delivered them and with each one he declined, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

Finally, he reached the final invitation. It was for a musicale that Lady Layla was holding. Thoughtfully, he reread the invitation again, written in a decidedly feminine script. It was handwritten, the butler said, and he thought it might be hers.

He pocketed the invitation and nodded his acceptance. The butler smirked knowingly. Duke Lyon feigned ignorance. After all, he was only curious.

The Lady Layla was a magnificent hostess, smiling and personally greeting each of her guests. All her invitations had been accepted, which was a surprise. Even the Grand Duke deigned an appearance. He did not wonder how she managed that. She impressed everyone with her intelligence of musical theory, and even he felt that he had gained a greater appreciation of the music.

When the musicale ended, she stood up to bid her guests farewell. The third Prince of Corval and the pirate from Hise flirted outrageously with her, the Princesses smiled and thanked her, the Earl from Arland was all effusive thanks, and he…?

He said maybe one or two words to her, and did his best not to scurry off. She had smiled at him in such a way that he could not be any more insensible to the inevitable truth; he was falling for her.

 

* * *

 

He awoke from his fort of books to see her opposite him, a vision in her silks. For a minute, he thought to as her if she was a _peri_ , conjured up by his subconscious, but she was real. She had been laughing, a  tinkling, lighthearted laughter that at that time, in his sleepy haze, was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. He contrasted it with other ladies he knew. Lady Avalie, for example, was skilled at it, but again, she was also a master manipulator, self-serving and almost arrogant. She was incredibly capable, but the combination of beauty and arrogance in his fellow Jiyel delegate was enough to make his stomach churn. Whereas Lady Layla…

Somehow, he found himself delivering to her a treatise of Princess Katyia’s life. The look of delight that passed her face was so becoming, he was properly rendered speechless. She was not quite a peerless beauty, but somehow, at that moment, he found himself soliloquising on her positive attributes.

When the invitation came for him to join her team for the boat race, he accepted without hesitation.

 

* * *

 

The crew consisted of the two Hisean delegates, Princess Cordelia and the pirate Hamin, himself, the sweet Princess Penelope and of course, Lady Layla, who – as a master delegator – gave them tasks which they all succeeded in. To perhaps everyone’s surprise, they won the boat race. While the rest of the crew were ebullient in their success, he hung back, observing them, saying little to Lady Layla until it was time to leave. It was something as inane as theory in person, though he little remembered it after he bid her farewell.

In the castle, he came across Lady Avalie.

“Why, I am almost persuaded, Duke Lyon, that you have formed a _tendre_ for the Lady Layla. How unfortunate for you that you have such rivals!”

He shrugged. With Avalie, the trick was to not give her leverage. He was unpleasantly reminded, however, of Lady Layla’s many admirers, and wondered how he could ever compete with them.

Despite having grown up in the Machiavellian court of Corval, he thought he could recognise the same thirst for knowledge in her eyes. He picked her gift for the Matchmaker’s breakfast, with hopes she would appreciate the sentiment.

When he received a gift from her (a book of puzzles), he thought very well that he might be in the throes of that strange, irrational emotion: infatuation.

 

* * *

 

The matchmaker’s breakfast was a trial to begin with. He noted the seating arrangements and was crestfallen to find himself seated away from Lady Layla. Instead, he was stuck with two twits, giggling and flirting outrageously, speaking nonsense and generally appearing to have no understanding of rational conversation. He deigned to speak as little as possible, without appearing completely impolite.

Lady Layla, for her part, carried herself gracefully, far more than she would a few days ago. His butler had said she had done her best to improve, and she appeared to be making great progress. She looked far more poised, far more graceful than she had when he first met her. She even seemed to be more radiant in beauty than before. In his most assuredly biased mind, she could most definitely hold her own against the likes of Lady Avalie and Princess Gisette, and he could not think that any perceived flaws only added to her loveliness.

The Matchmaker – a harridan if ever he met one – addressed her suddenly, daring her to complain of her seating arrangements, but in a surprising display of poise, she demurred and stated that she was very happy with her seat (despite being seated to Crown Prince Jarrod and Lord Blain, two of the most unfortunate people to ever be seated next to), and that she would not question the Matchmaker’s reasoning as there was surely wisdom in it.

Jaws dropped as the Matchmaker laughed merrily at Lady Layla’s reply. He was not surprised. Lady Layla was extraordinary. Even when Lord Blain jealously spilled the carafe on her, she was still a figure of admiration, stained dress, humiliation and all.

 

* * *

 

He was surprised by Lady Layla in the library yet again, although that had been occurring with such alarming frequency that he wondered how he still could be. This time, however, she managed to finagle him outside. It was a moment of weakness, he told himself. He found himself powerless against bright eyes and a beautiful smile when they belonged the her.

(If he was honest with himself, it would take very little for him to become her thrall now.)

She seemed happy, at peace, strolling in the beautiful islands, but his discomfiture became more and more apparent. When he threatened to leave, her crestfallen look made him nearly do a double-take, but she recovered and compromised, asking him if he would like to go to the gazebo. He had no objections to that, and they made their way there.

Their conversation was cut short by a prior appointment he was to have with General Falon, and he felt guilty (although pleased) that she seemed disappointed with him leaving. It gave him a small measure of hope that she felt the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not continue this. And may or may not write plots related to other possibilities (I mean, like, this gameplay I had a ridiculous number of suitors to choose from, it was awesome. Too bad it took me fifty million tries before I passed the Matchmaker's test.)


End file.
